The clock that hung on the wall ahead of him read eleven thirteen p.m.. All four men were running pathetically low on good suggestions for both song lyrics and instrumental riffs. Normally Josh didn't require much help in coming up with that stuff, but he really wanted to get his bandmates more involved with the upcoming record. Unfortunately, they weren't as beneficial as he had hoped and they were actually slowing him down a bit, but at this point, it didn't matter because he wasn't any better off alone.
"I can't think anymore," Josh whined, leaning forward and putting his forehead down on the table dramatically. "My fuckin' head hurts, dude."
"You okay?" Mike sounded concerned as he lightly placed a hand against the singer's back.
"Yeah. Just a killer headache and I need more of those fuckin' pain pills." Josh sat up slowly, wincing and putting a hand against his ribs as he moved. If he let himself think about it, he'd realize that he was lucky to be moving at all with the way his body had been wounded.
"Hey, man, um...this might not be a great thing to ask, and don't get pissed or anything, but...you're being careful with that shit, right?" Ian made brief eye contact and then dropped his gaze down to the pen he held between his fingers, twirling it in a circle before setting it back on the table.
Josh mentally rolled his eyes, wanting nothing more than to do it physically, but he knew he couldn't. Ian's heart was in the right place, as always. He was coming from years of experience with Josh and he knew how easy it could have been for the singer to slip back into a place he didn't want to be if he wasn't cautious. "Yeah, Ian, I'm fi...-," he caught Matt's eye and amended his words. "It's okay. They gave me some shit while I was at the hospital that I pretty much slept off, and I only took one dose of whatever the hell they sent me home with. That was a few hours ago. That's it. I swear."
"Just checking, Ramsay. This shit is bad enough...without, you know..."
Yeah, yeah, yeah...bad enough for a normal person without a history of drug use like me. When the fuck is everyone gonna stop reminding me about that? Josh's level of irritation was high, but not high enough to say anything. Yet. "I... Fuck!" The singer growled, screwing his eyes tightly shut as he held his left arm tighter against his ribs. He'd twisted just slightly to face the drummer and that was enough to cause an extraordinary amount of pain that he wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy. Grunting quietly and taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and breathed out slowly. "I get it, dude," he panted. "I do. And I'm okay. With you guys up my ass all the time, there's no way I'm ever gonna fuck up like that. So stop worrying."
"Just...you know...let us know if anything like that ever starts to happen." Mike finished Ian's thought, removing his hand and sitting back in his seat.
This time, Josh really did roll his eyes. "Yes, Dad. Now can we fuckin' drop it and get outta here?"
"Yeah, I guess it's late enough and we're not getting anything done anyway," the bassist answered for the rest of the men, nodding.
Josh hated to leave the security of the studio, but the pain was getting bad enough that he couldn't keep his attention on the task at hand anymore, and all he could think about was that little white paper bag of medications that still sat on his kitchen counter. Half an hour stood between him and the chalky taste of relative comfort. As he shut the door behind the men after agreeing to meet back at the studio around the same time the next night, the familiar feeling of impending negativity hit him full force again. It took three tries with a shaky hand to get the key in the lock to close up the building. Luckily, no one else noticed.